,
The
claustrophobic in me was not looking forward to snaking my way through the
clear plastic/glass tubes that lined the outside of le Centre Pompidou. Located in the 4th arrondissement,
in the area known as Beaubourg, the massive industrial looking structure
appeared to be a melange of a little bit of everything; glass piping, steel beams and colourful tubes
randomly thrown together, the confused brainchild of an Italian and British
architectural team. Conceptualized as a
fusion of “over the top” modern and art nouveau, the eclectic building seemed
to push the envelope by relocating the placement of water pipes, air
conditioning ducts and escalators on the outside as opposed to the inside of
the building. Housing a library, music
and acoustic research centre as well as one of the largest modern art museums
in Europe, the edifice is a visual representation of artistic genius, an
attention grabber of the highest calibre, the ideal repository to showcase art
nouveau.
To be
brutally honest, the imposing structure was somewhat of an eyesore, as it was
quite the visually unappealing landmark, conveniently located on the right hand
side of the street, a few doors away from our rental apartment in Le Marais.
The pink sneakered kid and I would traipse past the colourful plexi type glass
tubed steel curiosity every single day, never giving it a second glance,
dismissing it as a weird and strange structure located on the corner of our
street. It certainly made for a great landmark though, as having gotten lost
for the first couple of days in our neighbourhood, the Centre Pompidou was our
new guidepost, a visual indicator that we were just steps away from our home
away from home.
Even though
we regularly frequented the large square in front of the Centre, hanging out in
the cafés and shops that littered the surrounding area, amused and delighted
with observing the street performers, mimes and musicians enchanting old and
young alike, it didn’t occur to us to actually step inside this massive
complex. That is, not until the day
before we left Paris.
Having
traipsed all over this gem of a city, our pink sneakered feet weary and
tuckered out from tripping over cobblestones in hilly Montmartre to sprinting
all over town in quest of discounted designer leather goods in pursuit of
satisfying my handbag addiction issue, the kid and I just wanted to chill and
not venture out of our neighbourhood. Observing that there were people actually
walking inside the clear snaking tubes visibly located on the outside of the
building, the kid begged and pleaded for the thrill of also being permitted to
do the same. Threatening to throw a hissy
fit by the entrance doors if she didn’t get her way, the kid’s inner brat
kicked in, successfully succeeding in entertaining pedestrians by her wailing
and snivelling, and crumbling “meanie”
Auntie Nora’s “cold cement heart”
(kid’s words, not mine) in the process.
Paying my 12
Euro admittance fee, therefore gaining entrance to the museum and exhibits, I
was immediately awestruck by the sheer magnitude of the place. Even the kid perked up, all hugs and smiles,
tickled to finally have placed her mini pink sneaker in this colourful edifice,
a unique smorgasbord of steel, glass and brightly hued tubes, a visual playground for the senses.
There was a
method to their madness, those crazy architects, as the water pipes, air
conditioning and electrical artifices were colour coded, each colour
representing a separate functioning structural element. Air conditioning was
blue, water was green, yellow was electricity and red was for the elevators.
Pure genius! Now it all made sense. The piping, steel and glass tubing that initially
appeared to be haphazardly thrown together to create a building, were instead
meticulously placed in the appropriate location, allowing the building to function
as an efficiently operating unit, a well-oiled machine.
Named after
Georges Pompidou, the president of France from 1969 to 1974, the Centre
attracts over 25 thousand visitors per day, more than 3.6 million visitors per
year and is a top tourist attraction for old and young alike.
And how did
claustrophobic “can’t live in a tin can”
Auntie Nora make out? Surprisingly well, as a matter of fact. The open-air feel
of the plexi-glass tubed escalators wrapped around the structure did not feel
stifling or entrapping in the least. Able to view the incredible skyline of
Paris and even catch a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower, I thanked my lucky stars
that my French Revolutionary obsessed charge had the presence of mind to
pretend to throw a temper tantrum in front of clueless spectators; a ruse to
convince her narrow-minded ol’ Auntie to agree to tour the spectacular complex,
seizing the opportunity to discover a quirky “inside-out” original Parisian landmark.
Come snake
along the brightly coloured pipes of the Centre Pompidou and attempt to
discover your inner “artiste nouveau” and really cool one of a kind buildings with us...
Next week: A little bit of everything…Le Tour Eiffel and much
more
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